Sweaty Palms
by Izupie
Summary: Bakugou's aversion to holding hands is addressed in the typical Uraraka way: head on. (Someone help this boy, he's so in love.)


He had the sweetest sensation of hands sliding into his own; a touch deceptively feather light, for a girl he knew had so much strength hidden within her.

Despite his lightning quick reflexes, and the ability to create instant explosions in his palms, those powder soft pads on her finger tips brushing against his skin effectively paralysed him. He would laugh at himself if he wasn't feeling something fluttery and electric inside the bottom of his stomach. He knew he should yell and snatch his hands out of her touch (Move. Pull away. _Do something!_ His mind raged) but his traitorous body reacted on its own and he only gripped tighter instead. He scowled at his own weakness, and at the hint of mischief pulling at the corners of Uraraka's cheerful smile.

"I thought I told you I don't do holding hands." He finally ground out, trying to push down the glow of pride in himself that his voice hadn't broken and betrayed him. (How does she do this to him?)

"You did," she agreed, "which is why I had to catch you off guard and do it anyway."

"Back stabbing little -"

"I don't think it's the closeness you're scared of," she continued, ignoring him and squeezing his hand, "it's something else, right?"

Bakugou felt his eyebrows come together in unease; he wasn't sure he liked where this was going, knowing her uncanny ability to read between the lines of everything about him. This was definitely the time to deny everything, shove his hands back in his pockets, and walk away. The decision to act on this thought hung there in his mind as he looked at her smile... but... surely there was only so many times he could close himself off from her before he risked her finally giving up on him? (Did he really want to admit this kind of fear to himself?) (Did she have any idea how much she messed him up inside?)

(God he was in too deep already.)

She squeezed his hands in her smaller ones at his silence, still smiling at him despite the severe expression he knew he must be wearing, and continued, "I just wanted you to know that I don't care if your palms are always sweaty. Quirks are quirks." She shrugged as if what she was saying was nothing, something easy, not something he'd thought about over and over since they'd started getting closer, and he was reminded of what he admired about her; she was honest and earnest and worked hard, even with him. Especially with him. She was straight-forward in everything she did and chipped away at all the many walls he'd built up around himself.

"Anyway, it's fine- because it's your sweat. No wait, that came out a bit wrong. Like, it's just part of your quirk – part of you – that's why it's okay? Why I find it okay anyway. Because it's just how you are, right? It's fine– because it's you," she rambled, her pink cheeks blooming pinker.

He felt heat in the tips of his ears and hoped she couldn't see them through the spikes of his hair.

"What– What the _fuck_ Uraraka?" He burst out, and he definitely wasn't fighting off a smile or trying to hide the laughter in his voice. "I can't believe you just came out of nowhere and said that. Aren't girls supposed to be grossed out by shit like that?"

But they both knew he didn't think of her as being like other girls at all. She was the only one he could ever imagine saying anything like that to him. It was one of his secret insecurities in a list he didn't like to acknowledge, but she had the uncanny ability to see straight away - his tiny, strong, round-faced girl that almost crushed him in a meteor shower in their very first fight.

"What can I say?" Uraraka shrugged again, "I think you're a bad influence on me." She stuck her tongue out.

He swallowed thickly, staring at her mouth, and stamped down hard on the unexpected pulse of something through him that made him want to close the gap between them.

"You know I'm not one of those damn nerds that believes that," he scoffed, tearing his eyes away from her lips.

Like hell could anyone influence her - she had an inner strength matched only by his own. And yet sometimes he wondered if he was the only one who could see her truly iron core. Maybe he was.

Uraraka gasped in mock offence, then let out a small steadying breath, becoming serious again, and spoke in a quiet voice "I mean what I said though, I like holding your hands. I don't... want you to feel self-conscious about it."

"You're so fucking weird Round-Face!" He snapped, feeling self-conscious and hoping the heat he could feel in his face wasn't visible to her. She laughed loudly at that. (Fuck she was beautiful).

Bakugou removed one of his hands from hers, and gently cupped the side of her face with it.

His hands ran hotter than the rest of his body, helping to generate the nitro-glycerine sweat he exploded as part of his quirk, so he was entirely used to the uncomfortably warm and sticky sensation in his palms, but she didn't seem to mind his damp skin at all. (What had he done to deserve her?) His breath caught in his throat when she leant her cheek into his touch, and something a bit like his own fiery explosions ran up his arm into his chest. She beamed at him, and he couldn't help but give her a small smile back.

He loved her so much.

"You're so fucking weird," he repeated, the smile making his rough words come out soft.

"Right back at ya." She whispered, reaching up with her free hand and lacing their fingers together against her cheek.


End file.
